


Is It Not Brave?

by bowyer



Series: What Happens To The Wicked And Proud [1]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-22
Updated: 2014-04-22
Packaged: 2018-01-20 10:12:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1506734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bowyer/pseuds/bowyer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Assassination comes with the bloodline, Louis has heard it said. Don’t tarry too long in public, be careful who you allow near your presence, cut out those who get too close. But that has been a mantra since he was a child. It’s another thing entirely to see it put into action.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Is It Not Brave?

Louis is shaken awake with a hand on his mouth.

 

Despite the lateness of the hour, Treville is fully dressed as he looms into focus. “Apologies for the rude awakening, sire,” he says, hand still splayed across Louis’ mouth. “But this is important. And you _must_ be quiet.”

 

Wide-eyed, Louis nods, and the hand is withdrawn. He toys with the edge of his nightshirt and looks askance at his friend.

 

“I…” Louis doesn’t think he’s ever seen Treville this agitated. He is frowning, his hands compulsively twitching into fists over and over. “There is a plot to kill you,” Treville settles on. “And we must get you out of the palace tonight.”

 

“ _What?_ ” Louis squeaks, and Treville’s hand settles on his mouth again.

 

“There is a plot to _kill you_ ,” he repeats. “And they will enact it. Soon.”

 

“Then call the –” his voice is muffled by Treville’s hand. His friend gives him a meaningful look and lets him speak. “Call the guard?” he asks, in a lower voice.

 

Silently, Treville shakes his head.

 

Louis feels the bottom drop out of his world. If Treville will not allow him to call the guard, then – then the guard must be implicated, somehow. And to get to his guard, the person who wants rid of him would have to be mightily powerful.

 

For all his mother says otherwise, he is not stupid.

 

_They want my throne_.

 

It never even crosses his mind that this might all be a ploy, and Treville is involved. Treville is the most honest man he knows, and the most loyal. He puts up with Christine’s incessant questioning (and really, a girl of almost thirteen should know better than such behaviour), indulges all of Louis’ whims and allows him to confide his worries without ever repeating them. No, Treville is not at fault.

 

“You have a plan, I hope?” he asks, climbing out of bed and casting about for his breeches.

 

“You’re coming with me,” Treville says with tight lips, eyes darting between the door and the window. “That’s the plan for the moment.”

 

“Yes, of course,” Louis pulls his doublet over his nightshirt and sits down to tug on his boots. “Thank you. For alerting me.”

 

Treville gives him a look that seems strange in the darkness. It is only a few moments later that Louis realises it is one of fondness. “No need. Are you dressed? Now hurry.”

 

It is a good thing that Louis knows the palace so well; Treville lights no candles as they go through the endless dark corridors. He strides through them with purpose, and Louis has to hop and skip to keep up. But he tries to school his face into that stern and certain expression he vaguely remembers from his father. One is less likely to question a king who looks like he knows where he’s going.

 

Even if said king has his nightshirt tucked into his breeches and a rats’ nest for hair and it’s not even dawn.

 

“Where are you going?” A low female voice asks, and the room is suddenly lit up by a candle.

 

Louis stiffens, and Treville’s hand goes for his pistol. He points it in the direction of the light.

 

It takes a moment for their eyes to adjust and see who’s standing there.

 

“ _Christine_!” Louis hisses. “You gave us a terrible fright!”

 

“Your Highness,” Treville murmurs, inclining his head to Christine. “We must be going. _Now_ , Sire.”

 

“Where are you going?” she repeats, enunciating every word carefully. “It’s very late to be going for a stroll.”

 

“We’re going hunting,” Louis says, surprising himself. “Treville promised to show me deer, but they’ll be scared off if we go with the rest of the court.”

 

Christine looks at him, “You’re wearing your nightshirt.”

 

“I overslept.”

 

“I’m coming with you,” she announces, tugging on the end of her long rope-braid of hair. “Wait one moment.”

 

“I cannot guarantee her safety,” Treville says quietly. “The… plot is only for you, I do not think she is in danger.”

 

Right, the plot.

 

Assassination comes with the bloodline, Louis has heard it said. Don’t tarry too long in public, be careful who you allow near your presence, cut out those who get too close. But that has been a mantra since he was a child. It’s another thing entirely to see it put into action.

 

“Danger?” Christine is hurriedly buttoning up her dress, treading on the heels of her unlaced boots. “ _What_ is going on?”

 

Treville looks from royal to royal, tired and harassed. “Hurry then. We don’t have time to waste.”

 

It’s that, more than anything, that alerts Louis to the severity of the threat. That Treville doesn’t stop to argue.

 

_Louis might die_.

 

He’s rather fond of living.

 

Christine has to take two steps for every one that Treville takes, but she is keeping up admirably. “What is going on? Who’s a threat? Are we going to die?”

 

“No time, I don’t know, no.” Treville leads them down a corridor that Louis thinks is part of the servant quarters, where a boy in the livery of the royal house waits. “Any sign of them?”

 

“No sir,” the boy says promptly, pocketing the silver coin Treville hands to him. He bows in the direction of Louis and Christine, but seems rather unfazed by their sudden appearance. “I locked them in the armoury.”

 

“Good,” Treville holds open the door. “After you, Sire. And if you hear a shout – _run_.”

 

Louis nods and pushes Christine through the door.

 

“Let _no one_ know where we’ve gone,” he hears his guard say to the boy, before the door is shut.

 

“To the…” _stables?_ he begins to say, but Treville is already striding towards the court gardens, a hand around Christine’s elbow to make sure she keeps up. The dewy grass crumples under Treville’s no-nonsense steps.

 

All of a sudden he reconsiders, turning sharply on his heel and dropping Christine’s arm. “It would look like I was abducting you,” he says briefly when she begins to question. “And you may need to run.”

 

“Where would we run _to?_ ” Christine asks, already halfway to sprinting. Louis can’t figure out if he’s proud of her for asking, or ashamed that all he did was instinctively follow.

 

“I have acquaintances waiting outside,” Treville says in an undertone, taking another sharp turn. “Just _get out of the palace_.”

 

Louis makes an incredulous noise in the back of his throat, “You have enough men to be at any perimeter?”

 

His only answer is a look.

 

Christine looks behind them nervously, “I hope you’re right, Treville. Because I think we’re going to test that theory.”

 

Louis only has time for a quick glance – he sees the door open, figures stream out, there are shouts – before Treville shoves him in the back with such force that it propels him forward.

 

“ _Run!_ ” Treville roars.

 

So they run.


End file.
